by Tara West
“Father, I’m so sorry. You are alone no longer,” she cried before burying her face in his chest.
He rocked her in his arms, saying not a word. But in the void of his silence, she understood the yearning in his soul. He sniffled softly, and she knew he was holding back tears. She wondered why he didn’t just let the tears fall. Why he felt the need to be so strong. But the longer he held her, the more she was in awe of his strength, and she knew without a doubt she loved this man who was her father.
Chapter Fifteen
Duncan left his child with a mixture of heaviness and joy in his heart. After all he’d put Safina and her mother through, his child had forgiven him so easily. What a sweet lass she was, her eyes the same as his, but she had her mother’s captivating smile and beautiful hair. He was looking forward to getting to know his daughter. Hopefully, in time, her mother would learn to forgive him as well.
He stopped for repast at the first open tavern, helping himself to three bowls of barley beef stew and bread. He wasted no time with the flirtatious barmaids as he paid his tab and hurried out the door. There was an important matter to be settled.
Duncan found his way back to the brothel easily enough, since most of the streets in Galveston were either lettered or numbered. Though he didn’t care for the establishment’s seedy element, he needed to find Bess, the prostitute who’d saved him, and thank her. More importantly, he wanted to find out the whereabouts of Dr. Straw. It was time Duncan paid that man a visit.
No sooner had the young maid taken his hat and coat, and ushered him into the gilded parlor with burgundy satin walls and velvet drapes, than he heard a blood-curdling scream coming from upstairs. He ran into the hall and raced up the stairs two at a time.
He found himself back in the bedroom where he’d spent the past three days, recovering. His heart caught in his throat when he saw Bess lying on the floor, staring vacantly up at the ceiling, blood pooling from her throat, which was slit from ear to ear.
A young blonde woman, dressed only in a thin shift, was huddled in the corner, sobbing into a pillow.
Duncan had seen gruesome deaths enough times before, but it didn’t make witnessing Bess’s murder any easier. Careful not to step in the blood, he leaned over her, shutting her eyes while murmuring a soft prayer for her soul. The prayer was to no god in particular. After five centuries of roaming the earth, he’d been exposed to many gods and religions. Still he continued to pray, hoping one deity among them would hear his plea.
He walked over to the crying girl. She’d removed the pillow from her face and was staring at him through puffy slits with wide-eyed fascination.
“What happened here?” he asked.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing the black streams of makeup that ran down her face. “I heard Bess scream, but I came too late.” She pointed a shaky finger at the open window. “I saw Dr. Straw escaping.”
Duncan’s gaze traveled to the window, and back to the corner of the room where Bess had kept Dr. Straw’s cane, not surprised to find the weapon missing.
A stout man with peppered hair ran into the room, brandishing a pistol. “Hands where I can see them!” The man waved the gun at Duncan’s chest. “Who are you?” he asked accusingly.
Duncan slowly raised his hands, careful not to make any sudden moves. “Duncan MacQuoid.” He nodded at Bess’s body. “I saved the lass’s life a few nights past, and she saved my life in turn. I am not her killer.” He looked at the girl huddled in the corner. “It was Dr. Straw. She saw him escape through the window.”
The man slowly lowered his gun. “Son of a bitch.”
“And who are you?” Duncan asked.
The man holstered his gun in a belt beneath his jacket. “Colin O’Leary. The doctor owes my boss five hundred dollars. He’s been dodging me for nearly a week.”
Duncan looked at the frightened girl. “Lass, you need to summon the sheriff.” The girl silently nodded and left the room.
O’Leary made the sign of the cross and bowed his head over Bess’s body, mumbling a prayer. He rubbed the grey stubble on his chin. “Let’s hope I find him first. Jail is too good for the likes of him.”
A plump, old woman with silver hair piled on top of her head appeared in the doorway. Duncan knew she had to be the madam. Her green eyes widened when she saw Bess, but thankfully, she didn’t give into hysterics. “My girl told me Dr. Straw did this?” Clucking her tongue, she crossed her arms over an ample bosom. “I don’t understand. He was a good customer, and now he’s been reduced to a thieving murderer.”
“What drove him to commit such a crime?” Duncan asked. Though he knew Dr. Straw and the girl had argued over money, a simple squabble didn’t seem motive enough for murder.
O’Leary narrowed his eyes. “Gaming and booze, not to mention he lost most of his patients to that healer.”
Duncan’s blood went cold, his gaze tunneling on O’Leary. “What healer?”
“The redheaded woman staying at Mrs. Jenkens’s boarding house,” O’Leary said matter-of-factly.
“Wasn’t it she who healed you?” the madam asked.
Duncan’s stomach roiled. “Aye, it was.”
O’Leary clucked his tongue. “She’s healed most of Dr. Straw’s patients this week alone.”
“Do you know where to find her?” Duncan asked him, trying to ignore the drum of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
O’Leary shrugged. “I do.”
Duncan snarled at the thought of Bess’s killer going after Fiona. “Then hurry, man. We don’t have much time.”
* * *
Fiona busied herself helping Mrs. Jenkens pack her valuables in crates. She’d no idea one person could own so many vases and statuettes. She’d only seen the few on display in the parlor, but Mrs. Jenkens had brought dozens out of nooks and crannies and cabinets. And then there were the tea cups and saucers, plates, silver, and china. Almighty goddess, they’d never finish packing, and Fiona was so weary, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Mrs. Jenkens and Abby had begged Fiona to go to bed, but she refused, fearful of the dreams that would plague her, dreams of Duncan passionately kissing her while they made love beneath the moonlight. Dreams of their bodies joined, meeting at the pinnacle of pleasure before she shuddered in his arms.
Nay, those weren’t dreams. They were nightmares, for what kind of wicked soul was she to find satisfaction in the arms of the man who’d murdered her mother? No matter how tired she was, or how desperately she wanted to close her eyes and fall into a deep sleep, she could not, though she knew the inevitable reality was approaching. She would have to mate with the dragonslayer again if she wanted to save their child.
She wondered if she’d allow herself to find fulfillment or if she’d lay there, hating herself for surrendering to a murderer. She had the sickening feeling Duncan would not be satisfied with a brief coupling, that he wouldn’t rest until he’d stoked the embers of her desire. He’d force her to find release, damn him. And damn her, too, for she wanted Duncan to pleasure her.
“Such a shame we had to cancel the party,” Mrs. Jenkens’s shrill voice cut through Fiona’s fantasies. She was wrapping a delicate floral tea cup, completely oblivious to Fiona’s inner turmoil.
“I know.” Abby heaved a dramatic sigh. “Lydia thinks I’m making the whole thing up out of spite, and Irene thinks Josef has lost his marbles and I’m crazy for believing him.”
Mrs. Jenkens froze, her eyes narrowing to two puffy slits. “Josef is never wrong about such things.”
“Well, I hope he’s wrong about this,” Abby huffed, “even though my friends will never let me live it down.”
“And what about Charlotte?” Mrs. Jenkens asked. “Surely, she was more understanding.”
Abby shook her head. “Every time I call on her or ring her, she’s either sleeping or out. I will try again in the morning.”
Mrs. Jenkens’s eyes bulged. “Make sure you do. A woman in her condition should not set ou
t in bad weather.”
“I will, Nana.” Abby patted Mrs. Jenkens’s arm as if she were comforting a child. “Besides, she will be sorely disappointed if she comes all this way, and we aren’t here.”
“From what Josef has said, none of this will be here.” Mrs. Jenkens’s tone was as shrill as a mating pair of rabid cats. She looked sharply at Fiona. “You are being awfully quiet.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” Fiona mumbled, hoping the old woman would go back to fussing over her valuables and pay her no heed.
“With a hurricane approaching, you should be thankful Safina is far away.” Mrs. Jenkens paused, no doubt waiting to gauge Fiona’s reaction to the mention of Safina’s name.
Fiona did her best to remain impassive while she carefully set a wrapped vase in the crate. She did not wish to give the old woman any more fodder for her gossip.
“Where did you say she’d gone?” Mrs. Jenkens continued. “Houston? Dallas?”
Mrs. Jenkens knew full well Fiona had never mentioned where Safina had gone. What game was she playing? Did the woman think she was lying?
“I didn’t say where she’d gone,” Fiona answered with a sigh. “She never told me.”
“Oh, that’s right.” The woman said cheerily, as if Fiona’s entire world hadn’t crumbled around her. “Well, I’m sure it’s in a nearby city. A crippled boy can only go so far.”
It took all of Fiona’s willpower to hold her tongue. Luckily, Safina was not here, or else she might have given Mrs. Jenkens a thorough tongue-lashing.
“Unless Safina healed him, Nana,” Abby added.
“Oh.” Mrs. Jenkens’s hands flew to her fleshy cheeks. “I didn’t know she’d inherited your healing talents.”
Fiona said nothing, refusing to take the bait. The last thing she needed was this woman gossiping about Safina, too.
“Well, if she’s any bit as good as you, her services will be in high demand, and they should not want for money.”
Fiona hated the jolly way in which Mrs. Jenkens spoke of her daughter’s rebellion, as if Fiona hadn’t just lost the only reason worth living.
“Miss Fiona?” Abby asked, biting her lip.
“What is it?” Fiona felt badly for Abby. It had only been a few days ago that the girl had tried to kill herself. Something was wrong with her. She usually wasn’t this demure, but she’d changed over the past few days.
Abby twisted her fingers together. “I am very concerned for my friend, Charlotte. Her mother and grandmother both died in childbirth. Charlotte is the sweetest girl in the whole world. If anything were to happen to her, I’d just die.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Fiona gently chided. “Don’t talk such nonsense.”
But when she saw the deep lines marring the girl’s brow, she knew Abby was truly upset. “Would you like me to assist with the birthing?”
Abby set down a vase, clasping her hands together in a prayer pose. “Oh, could you?”
Fiona shrugged. “Of course, if Charlotte is willing.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’d be more than willing,” Abby squealed. “All of Galveston knows of your skills.”
“Aye, I know.” Fiona couldn’t help but scowl at Mrs. Jenkens at that remark. The old woman had sworn to keep Fiona’s gift to herself, and she’d kept her vow all of five seconds before she’d spilled her secret to every cackling hen in Galveston.
“I heard a funny bit of gossip today.” Abby giggled.
“What?” Mrs. Jenkens perked up like a predator scenting blood in the wind.
Abby’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I heard that snake in the grass, Dr. Straw, has lost all his private patients, and his creditors have seized his possessions.”
Mrs. Jenkens slapped her cheeks. “Oh, dear.”
“And that he’s in debt to half of the saloons around town,” Abby continued.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Jenkens rubbed her palms together and licked her lips as if she found the news delectable. “Well, if that man comes to my door ever again, I will send him packing.”
Fiona repressed laughter. Mrs. Jenkens hardly had the spine to face down such a man. “Mrs. Jenkens.” She wagged a finger at the old woman. “If he comes to your door again, I would advise you not to open it.”
“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Mrs. Jenkens turned up her chin in a false display of bravado.
Fiona wasn’t fooled. She leveled a hard stare at Mrs. Jenkens, then Abby, pacing her words carefully so they had time to sink in. “Because he’s desperate, and a desperate man is a dangerous man.”
* * *
The trip to Mrs. Jenkens’s house was made faster by the trolley, but not fast enough, now that Duncan knew Fiona’s life was in danger. The home was a modest, two-story Victorian facing the beach. Like many Galveston homes, it was raised on stilts, though according to Josef, none of the houses along the shore were built strong enough to withstand the fury that would be unleashed on them tomorrow. The wind was already picking up, billowing Duncan’s jacket and threatening to knock off O’Leary’s bowler hat.
After O’Leary knocked on the door, it swung open, revealing a large colored man whose broad shoulders filled the doorway.
The man scowled. “What you want?”
Mrs. Jenkens, standing behind the large man, dusted her hands on her apron. “Moses, if it’s that no-good doctor, give him a swift kick down the stairs.”
O’Leary held his hat in his hand as he peered over Moses’s shoulder. “Good evening, Mrs. Jenkens.”
Mrs. Jenkens patted Moses on the back. “It’s okay, Moses. Please finish up in the kitchen.”
The man backed up with a growl, then disappeared behind a swinging door.
“Good evening, Mr. O’Leary. Why on earth are you calling so late?” She nodded curtly at O’Leary before turning a stony glare on Duncan, assessing him as if he were a piece of livestock.
“I’m sorry,” O’Leary said, “but we have come with a message for your healer.”
“It will have to wait.” Mrs. Jenkens threw her hands in the air with all the theatrics of a squawking mother hen. “We are much too busy packing. There is a hurricane coming, you know.”
O’Leary scratched his head, gazing at the cloudy night sky. No, I did not know. I did not see the flags raised.”
Mrs. Jenkens wagged a finger in his face. “That’s because Mr. Cline is a fool who refuses to listen to my friend, Josef Cortez. Josef has never been wrong about the weather.” She jutted hands on her ample hips, glaring at O’Leary and then Duncan as if she was challenging them to disagree. “Not ever.”
“I’m sorry,” Duncan interjected, “but this message is urgent. We will not intrude on her time overly long.”
Mrs. Jenkens scowled at Duncan, then turned to look behind her.
Duncan’s heart swelled at the sight of his lovely lass. She held a statuette in her hands that had been partially wrapped in newspaper. “I will see them, Mrs. Jenkens.”
Ignoring Mrs. Jenkens’s protest, Duncan pushed his way inside, grasping Fiona by the shoulders. “Thank God you’re safe, lass.”
She pulled away. “Of course I’m safe, Duncan.” Then she plastered on a smile and turned to the old woman. “Mrs. Jenkens, I’m sorry.” She waved a hand at Duncan as if he were no more than an acquaintance. “This is Duncan. Duncan MacQuoid.”
A young woman with brown hair and wide eyes squealed and rushed behind Fiona, peering over her shoulder. “You must be Safi’s father.”
Duncan nodded. “I am.”
“Oh, Miss Fiona.” Mrs. Jenkens gasped, stumbling back, nearly falling into the coatrack. “I thought you were a widow.”
Fiona clutched the statue tightly to her chest, her expression hardening. “I never said I was.”
Mrs. Jenkens’s mouth fell open, the fleshy skin on her cheeks rippling with the movement. “But I thought Josef said….” She paused, looking from Fiona to Duncan as if she was expecting them to rescue her from her own wagging tongue. After she was met with silence, s
he threw her hands in the air. “Oh, never mind.” Then she narrowed her eyes at Duncan. “Mr. MacQuoid, I’ll have you know I am a Christian woman. This is a family establishment I’m running here.”
Duncan swallowed a lump which had wedged itself in his throat as he thought of the right words to say. If he claimed Fiona as his wife, would she deny him? Only one way to find out. “I thank you, Mrs. Jenkens. I would expect nothing less for my wife and child.”
“Forgive me, but I didn’t see wedding rings.” The judgment in the old woman’s tone made Duncan want to throttle her, and not for his sake, but for Fiona’s. Mrs. Jenkens was lucky he’d taken a vow never to harm defenseless women, no matter how haughty they were.
“I told you we lost everything on the journey,” Fiona said in an exasperated tone.
“Nana,” the brown-haired lass cut in. “Please.”
The old woman held up a silencing palm. “Hush, Abby.” She scowled at Duncan. “And where have you been all this time, Mr. MacQuoid?” Again, her tone dripped with accusation. Duncan had no problem envisioning her as the town gossip, the type of woman who wouldn’t hesitate to tarnish Fiona’s reputation for the sake of scandal.
Duncan gave the old woman a hard stare, forcing her to look away. “Looking for work and a suitable home for my family, ma’am.”
She blinked at him as if she’d been struck dumb. “Well, I hope you found something, though you are welcome to stay here.” She waved toward her small sitting room with the brocade sofas and crates full of various plates and vases. “Miss, er, Mrs. Fiona has earned room and board here for as long as she wants.” She let out a bubbly squeal. “Though from the sound of it, I may not have a home after tomorrow.”
Duncan humbly bowed before the old woman, not for her sake, but for Fiona’s. He sensed Fiona wanted to stay on Mrs. Jenkens’s good side. “I thank you for your generosity.”